


Just a Spoonful of Sugar

by eqyptiangold



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, M/M, Rich Stiles Stilinski, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eqyptiangold/pseuds/eqyptiangold
Summary: “Sheriff’s kid, huh?” Derek smiles into his glass as he takes a sip through stupidly pretty lips. “Does that make you more or less into handcuffs than the average guy?”Stiles narrowly avoids spitting his drink. Even so, he still chokes through a laugh, wiping his mouth with his palm. “I don’t know, I’ve never really tried it. I wear suits to work every day, remember?” He fingers his silk tie and leans toward Derek conspiratorially. “Doesn’t hurt the wrists as much,” Stiles comments lightly. Their flirtatious banter is making his chest buzz excitedly.Derek offers a coquettish smile and presses his lips right next to Stiles’ ear. “What if I want it to hurt?” He bites the shell of Stiles’ ear, making him shudder and melt against the man’s broad chest. “Are you rich, Stiles?” The name sounds positively indecent between Derek’s lips. “Your friends over there looked rich. I couldn’t help but overhear a few choice words…” His voice sounds like pure sex in Stiles’ ear. “Are you a sugar daddy?” he purrs.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Just a Spoonful of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> this is not as smutty as the summary makes it sound pls

Stiles hates his job sometimes. Not the work; as cliche as it is, he’s one of the lucky few who actually enjoys what he does every day. The people though, and the necessary social dynamic that comes with working for a company as competitive as his--Stiles hates that. He hates sitting in this bar with his coworkers, decked out in over-expensive suits with glasses of top-shelf liquor dangling between their fingers as they gesture confidently. Every single one of them is sure that they’re right about everything, no matter the topic. 

If Stiles has to listen to Crawford fucking Delafontaine rant about how men can cheat but women can’t for one more minute, he might end up decking the guy, or at least tilting his obnoxious glass of thousand dollar brandy into his lap. Thankfully, the topic is soon changed when one of the guys’ thin blonde companion flounces away to fetch him another drink. “She’s hot, right?” the guy asks, leaning in over the table with a smirk. “Couple thousand a month plus gifts and she shows up when I want, for whatever I want.” He offers a lascivious leer, slamming his empty tumbler to the table with conviction. 

Another man, nearing his fifties, snorts loudly. “Oh yeah? I got a natural blonde and she doesn’t tell my wife.” He gestures at the girl’s dyed blonde locks as she returns, obediently handing over the drink even when it earns no thanks. 

Stiles resists the urge to grimace. “Why don’t you got a sugar baby, Stilinski?” Crawford Delafontaine asks, chortling like he’s said something funny. “You’re gay, right? Get some tail, man, I’m sure you could find a hot twink or something.” The man looks far too pleased with himself for knowing the term  _ twink _ . He goes as far as leaning across the table to poke Stiles’ shoulder brazenly, as if they’re friends, as if Delafontaine didn’t try to steal one of Stiles’ clients a month ago. 

“He’s already a twink!” another guy crows, smacking the table with a callus-free hand as he snickers. “Maybe you could find some big guy, huh ‘Linski?” Stiles just  _ barely _ reigns in a scowl at the shortening of his name. 

“Like that dude over there,” Crawford fucking Delafontaine suggests, pointing obviously at someone seated at the bar. All Stiles can see is a back, but it is admittedly a very nice back. Broad shoulders clad in black leather, narrowing down to a trim waist and, even seated, Stiles just knows that his ass and thighs are worthy of a Grecian statue. Taking note of the metaphorical drool around Stiles’ mouth, Delafontaine grins broadly. “Don’t ever tell me I’m not an ally, man.” He smacks Stiles’ back enthusiastically. “Go talk to him. You got cash? I’ll lend you a handful if you need. Just catch me back at the next strip club or something.” Crawford snorts loudly. 

“I’m not just going to go ask some guy to be my sugar baby,” Stiles retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Come on, dude. He could be straight, or just morally against trading money for- for- for fucking whatever.” 

“Throw enough cash at him and he’ll be gay by the end of the night,” says the married, cheating sugar daddy, sloshing back a mouthful of whiskey. 

Before Stiles can get another word in edgewise, or at least an eye roll, the rest of his table is laughing and urging him on. When he was a kid, his dad warned him about peer pressure on the playground. As it turns out, the real risk is pressure from coworkers that he has to maintain a good relationship with, even when most of them are probably secretly rooting for his downfall. Finally, he sighs out an agreement and shoves himself to his feet. Walking through the bar, Stiles quickly begins to realize that his annoyance-fuelled false bravado is quickly evaporating along with the sweat building behind his neck. Approaching hot men in bars, especially when it’s not a gay bar, is far from Stiles’ comfort zone. 

He drops into the seat next to the stranger and twists a finger at the bartender for another of both his and the guy’s drinks. When the stranger turns, Stiles swears his heart stops in its tracks. Fuck, he’s hot. What colour are those eyes? Stiles wants to swim in them. And the jawline, the eyebrows--fuck, Stiles might get hard if he stares too long. He wants this guy to rub his stubble all over him. 

“Thanks,” Hot,  _ Hot _ , and Handsome rumbles, his voice deep and delicious. Stiles blinks rapidly; he just used the word  _ delicious _ to describe something other than food. He might need a minute to reassess who he’s becoming as a person. “I’m Derek.” A stupidly attractive hand is extended, and Stiles is suddenly too focused on getting this man to go home with him  _ right now _ to worry about his brain’s choice of words. 

“Stiles,” he replies, accepting the handshake with a small smile. 

Derek (and Derek is a really hot name, Stiles realizes. Maybe Derek is his new favourite name) raises an eyebrow. “Not Alexander Maximillian Buckingham De La Brimsey III?” 

Stiles giggles softly. “Alas, your drink won’t be paid for with trust fund money from angry rich dads who groomed me for this career my whole life. You’ll be getting a drink from a small-town sheriff’s kid who found his way here with help from Adderall and Red Bull-coffee cocktails.” 

“Sheriff’s kid, huh?” Derek smiles into his glass as he takes a sip through stupidly pretty lips. “Does that make you more or less into handcuffs than the average guy?” 

Stiles narrowly avoids spitting his drink. Even so, he still chokes through a laugh, wiping his mouth with his palm. “I don’t know, I’ve never really tried it. I wear suits to work every day, remember?” He fingers his silk tie and leans toward Derek conspiratorially. “Doesn’t hurt the wrists as much,” Stiles comments lightly. Their flirtatious banter is making his chest buzz excitedly. 

Derek offers a coquettish smile and presses his lips right next to Stiles’ ear. “What if I want it to hurt?” He bites the shell of Stiles’ ear, making him shudder and melt against the man’s broad chest. “Are you rich, Stiles?” The name sounds positively indecent between Derek’s lips. “Your friends over there looked rich. I couldn’t help but overhear a few choice words…” His voice sounds like pure sex in Stiles’ ear. “Are you a sugar daddy?” he purrs. 

“N- no,” Stiles stammers. “Those people are not my friends. They’re the coworkers I have to keep a good relationship with. I didn’t even want a, uh, sugar baby, but they made me come over here.” 

“You  _ didn’t _ want one? Do you want one now?” Stiles is practically in Derek’s lap, their words soft whispers in one another’s ears. Derek slides a hand beneath Stiles’ jacket to hold his side, fingers rubbing distractingly through the expensive dress shirt. “I’ll go home with you either way.” 

“Maybe I do,” Stiles pants, his chest thrumming heatedly. He finally presses his palms against Derek’s chest, almost moaning at the feel of those  _ muscles _ . Holy shit, Stiles might have to take up religion after this; he’ll pledge himself to the church of perfect Derek. 

“You’ve very young and pretty for a sugar daddy,” Derek murmurs. “Sure you can afford me?” 

“You’re priceless,” Stiles breathes out instantly. “But I could buy that Gucci shirt you’re wearing a hundred thousand times over and still make Scrooge McDuck’s money bin.” He traces the loudly printed logo across Derek’s chest, noting the appreciative hiss when he brushes a nipple through the fabric. 

“For someone who only came over because your not-friends made you, you’re very good at this,” Derek comments, his voice breathy. It makes Stiles’ stomach boil with heat. “How close is your place? Or the nearest hotel. Whatever you want.” 

“Everything is close in the city, but the drive will take a fucking lifetime,” Stiles replies, and he slides off of his barstool to get even closer to Derek. “Luckily I have a limo driver waiting outside. One who’s very willing to close the divider and pretend he can’t hear any,”--Stiles licks his lips in a way that makes Derek’s expression melt before his eyes--“ _ illicit _ activities.” 

“Do you wanna say goodbye to your not-friends first?” Derek smirks teasingly. 

“Shut up,” Stiles replies in a gust of breath, finally pressing his mouth against Derek’s in a passionate kiss. “Let’s go.” 

-

An hour later, Stiles is lying on top of Derek in between rounds of what is the best sex of Stiles’ life. Hickeys mark the skin from his inner thighs, across his hips, and up his stomach to his neck and shoulders. Already, Stiles has fucked Derek into the pillows, bounced on Derek’s dick until he was weak with exertion, then kneeled on the bed with shaky thighs while Derek fucked him mercilessly. Discovering the simple black tattoo across the bottom of Derek’s dick had awoken a kink that Stiles didn’t know he had. He spent a solid fifteen minutes lavishing the inked skin with attention until Derek had been writhing from the tease. Stiles’ tie is dangling from the headboard, half-knotted from its prior home around Derek’s wrists. Both of them are tired and satisfied past the point of being bothered by the sweat and general…  _ stickiness _ happening between them. 

“Y’wanna know something?” Stiles asks drowsily. Absently, he drags his tongue across a blooming purple mark on Derek’s collarbone. The stupidly attractive man hums an affirmation, his pretty kaleidoscope eyes half-lidded and sleepy. It’s all very domestic in a way that makes Stiles’ chest warm. “In high school, on my Econ midterm, I wrote about the history of the male circumcision for a question.” To punctuate his comment, Stiles tiredly flops his arm down Derek’s body and wraps a loose fist around his uncut cock. Derek hisses from the oversensitivity, and Stiles moves his hand to cradle his pretty, pretty companion’s hip. There’s an attractive line of hickeys and faint bite marks sprinkled across Derek’s hips and ass, compliments of Stiles. While creating said marks, Stiles had been overwhelmingly delighted with the plush skin of his ass. 

Derek snickers belatedly, and he buries his face in Stiles’ neck. “You wrote about  _ circumcision _ for an  _ econ _ question?” he repeats, a soft wheeze escaping him. 

Wrapping an arm around Derek’s neck, Stiles grins and can’t help but laugh along. For such an intimidating looking person, Derek’s laugh is adorably infectious. “Just wanted you to know that your dick is the thing of dreams for high school Stiles,” Stiles responds. “And current Stiles, to be honest. You ever tried docking?” 

Derek lets out a surprised little snort of laughter. “Next time,” he pants, a small blush forming on his cheeks. It’s charming, Stiles thinks. “God, you are not like any sugar daddy I’ve ever met.” He raises an eyebrow, intrigued by both the comment and the adorable layer of pink coating his maybe future sugar baby’s cheeks. “I mean, I think you’re younger than me, and you’re hot and funny and, fuck. I’ve known you for a few hours and we’re talking about  _ docking _ , Jesus Christ.” Like a puppy, Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck and laughs softly. Voice muffled, he murmurs, “Stay with me, Stiles Stilinski.” He lets out another small laugh at the name. “At least until I somehow find out your first name.” 

“Sorry, Derek Hale. We’re not all blessed with nice, pronounceable names.” Stiles feigns an eye roll, even as a grin stretches uncontrollably across his face. Throughout the night, Stiles has quickly realized that Derek too is not at all like he expected. It’s frankly unfair that he gets to have that jawline, the eyebrows, those  _ muscles _ , all while still being one of the most entertaining people Stiles has ever spent time with. His wry humor and dry wit have already made Stiles’ stomach ache from laughing--along with the strenuous rounds of sex. 

“Try me,” Derek teases, gently digging his fingers into Stiles’ hips. “Bet you $120,000 that I could pronounce it.” 

Stiles snickers. “What do you need 120 grand for?” He sits up, straddling Derek’s waist and looking down at him. 

“A few years worth of college tuition,” Derek replies easily, a playful grin on his features. “You already know some of the things my tongue can do, next you can watch it pronounce your elusive first name.” Even as he exudes confidence and sex appeal, Derek’s cheeks tint pink when Stiles smirks at the mention of his tongue. “Fuck,” he mumbles, turning his head to the side and burying his nose in the pillow. “I don’t blush anymore, y’know. People say the most vulgar shit when you’re a sugar baby, right, so I’m usually immune.” Stiles smiles adoringly, charmed by the insight into Derek. Belatedly, he realizes that Derek just confessed to being a real sugar baby. 

First, Stiles leans in to whisper a few dirty lines against his ear until Derek is flushed red and stuttering. In the ensuing silence, he takes the chance to ask, “You’ve actually been a sugar baby for people before?” 

Derek blinks, still looking slow and red-faced as the question registers. Abruptly, his expression hardens. His entire body tenses and Stiles feels every muscle tighten beneath him--it would almost be hot if not for the building tension in the room. “Yes,” Derek grinds out, his once lax position looking uncomfortable and stiff. 

“Did you-” Stiles stutters, insecurities suddenly welling in his chest. The sugar daddy banter had been funny, right up until he realized that Derek could have been faking his interest from the start. “Is that why you came home with me?” 

Derek’s expression looks like stone. “I’m not a prostitute,” he snaps irritably. “I slept with you because I like you.” The confession is delivered like a punch, wielded with iron knuckles. Stiles’ stomach twists in its confusion, somewhere between butterflies and nervousness. 

“I didn’t mean-” he stammers, face hot and vaguely panicked. “People as hot as you don’t usually like me,” he admits finally. Stiles feels like he’s slowly burning from the inside out, his distress making itself known through the uncomfortable heat engulfing him. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” He ducks his head aside, fingers knotting anxiously. “Don’t be mad. I mean. I have no right to tell you how to feel. Fuck. Sorry, sorry.” 

Derek grabs Stiles’ waist gently, drawing his attention back. “Sometimes people treat me like shit because I’m a sugar baby. I get too defensive, sometimes.” Seeing the relaxed expression on Derek’s face makes Stiles let out a relieved sigh. He melts against his chest, kissing his neck in his relief. “I  _ was _ joking about you as my sugar daddy though,” Derek clarifies, one hand tangling in Stiles’ hair affectionately. 

“I know.” There’s a pause, in which Stiles feels himself slowly relax. “Were you serious about needing tuition money?”

Derek nuzzles his nose against Stiles’ neck before he replies. “Kind of, I guess. I want to go back to school, but I also don’t want to have to blow through all my savings. Basically restarting my whole life right now isn’t really what I want.” Stiles sits up again, his hands on Derek’s bare shoulders. He has to restrain the urge to instantly offer up money. Growing up in a modest household, Stiles still isn’t used to blowing huge sums of money even now that he can; he still collects coupons and instinctively reaches for the option that’s on sale. Yet, something about Derek being unable to afford to go to college, when Stiles has buckets of money just sitting and collecting interest, makes him want to take in Derek as his sugar baby for real. 

Instead, he quickly says, “Why didn’t you go after high school? Shit, sorry, is that rude? Ignore me.” 

“It’s fine.” Derek’s smile is soft and undeniably fond. No one has ever looked at Stiles that way, especially after he rambles. “I started my bachelor’s, but then I had to go back to help my sisters and my uncle. Turns out there’s a high demand for big, muscly sugar babies to sit pretty and accept money. I could’ve held a job, but being a sugar baby gets faster money. Even after I moved out on my own, it was too late to go back. I’d have to re-apply to colleges and everything.” 

Stiles’ gaze drops to his hands, light ivory against Derek’s pale shoulders. “Do you- are you- um,” he stammers, still staring at the smooth skin of his fingers. “Do you have a, uh, sugar daddy right now? Like an open relationship or something! I’m not trying to imply you would cheat.” He bites his lip before any more words can escape. 

A quick glance reveals a small, charmed smile on Derek’s face. “I don’t,” he confirms, one hand lifting to hold Stiles’ wrist. Again, Stiles chances a look at his face, catching sight of the self-satisfied quirk to his lips, looking like the cat that got the cream. 

“D’you want one?” The words fall from Stiles’ mouth before he can stop them, and he can feel his face burn bright red. Already, he knows that the crimson flush that stretches down his neck is nowhere near as cute as Derek’s blush. Even so, Derek lightly touches his cheek with the pads of his fingers, looking incredibly fond. 

“A few hours ago, you only approached me because your not-friends made you,” he reminds, though his expression is relaxed and sleepy. Stiles huffs theatrically and sprawls himself across Derek’s chest like a maiden in distress. 

“Lots has happened since then,” he pouts. Feeling fidgety with nervous energy, Stiles rolls across his massive bed, pulls his knees to his chest, and then abruptly kicks out all his limbs to spread-eagle across the mattress. “I’ll pay for your tuition. Whatever you need, even if it’s more than 120,” Stiles offers, staring at the high ceiling. “And whatever else you want.” He considers rolling onto his side to face Derek but chickens out at the last second. 

Derek is quiet for a few minutes, both staring at the ceiling. “Sugar daddies usually do allowances,” he says finally. “A few hundred or thousand a month, or gifts or something.” 

Stiles nods at the roof. “I can do that,” he agrees easily. The whole conversation feels foreign to him, but the idea of getting to see Derek and spoil him makes his chest warm. “And whenever you want to enrol, I’ll pay the tuition and textbooks and whatever.” 

Derek coughs loudly, sounding like he’s choked on his own spit. He sits up, mouth pressed to the crook of his elbow as he coughs violently. Eyes wide, Stiles smacks his back, unsure if it’s helping or not. “I meant just allowances instead of tuition,” Derek splutters, still breathing heavily. “You can’t just-” He stammers, slouching sideways to lean on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Hey, if I’m going to be a sugar daddy then I’m going to do it better than the rest,” Stiles promises, hand still gently rubbing his companion’s back. “I mean. If you want me as your sugar daddy.” 

“Shut up, obviously I do,” Derek huffs, and he turns to throw his legs over Stiles’ and nuzzle his neck. They’re both sitting up, resting their weight on one another. “You’re offering way too much though. I can’t- it’s just too much.” 

“Maybe everyone else just wasn’t offering you enough,” Stiles coos, his voice only half-teasing. He presses his face comfortably into Derek’s fluffy hair, dropping a soft kiss on the crown of his head. “Seriously, though. The next semester won’t start for a while; hang out with me, we can do the gifts and monthly money thing, you can apply for colleges. There’s no rush, Der.” Derek looks up, and his expression is a confusing jumble of emotions, all seemingly warring for dominance over his stupidly attractive face. 

“I want you,” he breathes suddenly, rolling on top of Stiles to bury his nose in the slimmer man’s chest. Something about the action, and its resounding cuteness, makes Stiles’ heart thrum a fraction faster. Derek’s hands gently find his waist and Stiles might be done for.

“Then stay with me,” he says logically, even as his chest lights up with frantically exuberant butterflies. “Stay.” Somehow, Stiles already knows that Derek will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapt title is a mary poppins reference but anyways


End file.
